Devotion
by LW107
Summary: CB. When something unspeakable happens to Blair, Chuck realizes that there are no limits to what you will do for someone you love. Strong SB friendship, bits of DS. Rated for sex and language.
1. Prologue

**A/N: This story takes place in the midst of the characters' sophomore year in college.**

**--**

_**Holiday party, Waldorf residence, age 20**_

For Blair, the world got fuzzy somewhere between her second glass of Pinot Noir and a spontaneous shot of Patrón. She pushed through the crowd of people gathered in the ample quarters of her penthouse, her gaze sweeping the room pridefully at the mass of people mingling, cocktails and cell phones in hand as they enjoyed her annual Christmas soirée.

The apartment was decorated for the holiday to suit the traditional tastes of Eleanor Waldorf, wreaths hung on the doors and candles in the windows and a large, tastefully decorated Christmas tree flanking the corner of the living room. There was even a small nativity scene on the mahogany table by the chaise, Eleanor's feeble attempt to cling to her Episcopalian upbringing. Blair didn't notice any of this, however, as she continued to wander the room, the silk hem of her Nanette Lepore dress rising with each step she took.

Making a beeline for the mini-bar, her fingers were in the process of wrapping around a brimming champagne flute when she noticed the very person she least wanted to see, her eyes automatically rolling toward the ceiling as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Chuck," she muttered, her voice laced with malice. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He smiled as he leaned casually against the mini-bar, saluting her with his half empty glass of scotch. "Hateful as ever, I see." Pausing, he allowed himself a thorough inspection of her body, smirking at the blush that graced her cheeks when his eyes lingered along the plunging v-neck of her cocktail dress. "_Blushing_, Blair? Surely all of those pricks at Yale haven't turned you into a prude."

She tilted her head to the side, brown eyes meeting brown as the corners of her lips turned upward. "Not at all," she beamed, sarcasm clinging to her tongue. "I still love sex. I just want to tie a chastity belt around myself when I'm with _you_."

Chuck cocked his brow, smirking as he downed the rest of his scotch in one long swallow. "Afraid you won't be able to control yourself?"

The grin immediately fell from her mouth. She groaned, pouting as she resisted the urge to give his chest a shove. "Go away, Chuck!"

But it was she who actually walked away, abandoning Chuck in favor of a strong gin martini and the preferred company of Penelope and Hazel. From there, the night flew by in a whirlwind, a mixture of booze and debauchery and reminiscing of friendships past. The night stretched into early morning, and before she knew it, the clock read two-thirty AM and her name was being called from across the room. "Blair!"

She turned to find Cottie and Iz finishing off the last of their cocktails and slipping into their coats. "The party's moving to Socialista."

The old Blair, the _high school _Blair, might have felt annoyed that someone had moved her party without consulting her. But she was the new Blair, the _Yale _Blair, the grown-up Grace Kelly version of herself who merely scoffed quietly before nodding her head. "Fine," she replied, giving a small shrug as she turned toward the staircase to grab her coat. "Wait for me. I'll be right back."

--

She knew he was waiting for her before she even made it inside her bedroom. She smelled him as she approached the threshold, his Clive Christian cologne wafting through the open entrance and causing wet heat to pool between her legs. "_Chuck_, didn't I tell you to leave?" she snapped, pushing herself through the doorway to find him sitting on the edge of her bed. "What the hell are you doing in here? You're such a creep."

He smirked, running his hand along the cotton threads of her duvet. "Just reminiscing," he replied, his eyes full of mischief as he took a long swallow of scotch. "So many memories in this room." He paused, catching her eye. "So many memories in _you_."

She could feel her face flush, the lace of her La Perla's becoming drenched when he stepped away from the bed, his eyes locked on hers as he moved to close the distance between their bodies. She swallowed with difficulty, her breathing becoming irregular as she shook her head. "No. I don't have time for this, Chuck."

But he didn't listen, didn't even slow down in the slightest until his chest was crushed against hers, her nipples suddenly biting through the silk of her dress. She felt his lips crash onto her mouth as she shook her head in weak protest, willing her body to resist his charm yet already feeling herself giving in as she gathered fistfuls of his argyle sweater between her palms. "This doesn't mean _anything_," she whispered, barely containing a whimper as his hand slipped beneath the hem of her dress.

He groaned when his fingers were met with wetness beneath the lace of her panties, his eyes flashing with irritation as he allowed the empty scotch glass to fall to the ground. "The fuck it doesn't," he growled, ignoring the tumbler as it shattered against the hardwood floor.

The crash was startling, causing her to jolt in his arms. "Dorota's going to kill you for that," she hissed, two of his fingers disappearing inside her as she bit her lower lip. She moaned, sparing the glass-covered floor a glance as he added a third.

"No she won't," he whispered, watching her face as he pressed his thumb against her clit. "Dorota loves me."

She could feel the pressure building in her body and she hated him for it. Loved him for it. Throwing her head back, Blair attempted to control her panting. "No one loves you, Chuck," she countered, her tone full of anger as she felt her climax building. "You're _repulsive_."

He didn't allow himself to feel the sting that her words caused, didn't acknowledge the burning that plagued his chest when their meaning sank in. "Likewise, Waldorf," he shot back, letting his teeth close painfully over her clavicle while hoping that he sounded even the slightest bit convincing.

Her eyes fluttered shut as his ministrations continued, her pulse pounding beneath her skin as the silk of her dress wrinkled against his thighs. "Let's get this over with, Bass. I have a party to get back to."

He sneered at her command, jerking her angrily against the nearest wall with enough force to make her gasp. "Don't rush me. I'm not one of your little cronies you can boss around."

Irritation flared as she glared up at him through narrowed eyes. "Screw you, Chuck Bass."

And he did, slowly at first with Blair pinned against her bedroom door, Chuck providing deep, rough thrusts as Blair braced her hands on his shoulders and wound her legs around his waist. They could hear the rumble of voices through the closed door behind Blair's shoulders, the loud partygoers doing nothing to quell their efforts. "_Harder_," she hissed, "or I'll have to do this myself."

He complied with a smirk, and when she came minutes later, it was with enough power to make her body shudder and her eyes roll into the back of her head. Chuck soon followed, his forehead falling against the soft skin where her neck and shoulder intersected.

Seconds passed in silence. Labored breaths echoed in the air as she slowly uncurled her legs from his waist, planting her feet back on the ground and smoothing the creases from her dress. She pulled her tights over her knees, the maroon-colored fabric perfectly matched to the bow in her hair. Beside her, Chuck watched from the corner of his eye, his lips pursed. "Thanks for the fuck, Princess."

She rolled her eyes as she willed her knees to stop shaking, sulking as she grabbed her herringbone coat from the inside of her closet door. "God, I loathe you."

And when she slammed the door behind her, he couldn't help but think that if he concentrated, her words sounded remarkably similar to the ones he really wanted to hear.

--

A/N: Hey guys! I do want to say that, although my summary suggests that there is much more of this story to tell (and there really, _really _is), I had a remarkable amount of free time over the holiday weekend, which is how this initial part came to exist. I have every intention of continuing this, but whether I do depends largely on the amount of time I end up having over the next few weeks. I made sure that this story can stand on its own, so if I choose not to continue, my apologies, but take comfort in the fact that I didn't end this part with some absurd, dramatic cliffhanger as I had originally intended!

All reviews are appreciated, of course.


	2. Ice

**Socialista**

The room smelled like a mixture of liquor and sex.

_And_, Blair thought, somewhat like the fragrance counter at Bergdorf Goodman.

She was poised between Cottie and Hazel in the middle of a burgundy leather couch, her legs crossed at the ankles and a watermelon Bellini resting in her hand. Socialista hadn't changed a bit in the seven months since she'd stepped through the door; same décor, same menu, same faces, more or less. It was still one of her favorite places in the city, fourteen dollar drinks held between manicured fingers while beautiful patrons modeled the latest attire from Bendel's. All in all, the perfect scene in the mind of Blair Waldorf.

Except, apparently, for tonight. She wasn't in the mood, not even being able to derive appreciation from the long, approving stare of the attractive Wall Streeter leaning against the bar. She couldn't enjoy herself, could barely even breathe because of the distracting throb lingering between her legs. She was losing her buzz, and losing her temper, and all she could think about was the mind-numbing orgasm she'd had an hour before.

That, and Chuck _freaking_ Bass.

She hated him, really. That's all there was to it.

It was the way he looked at her with that stupid, cocky smirk on his lips, the way he spoke in that deep tone of voice that made goosebumps emerge up and down her spine. He knew exactly how to push her buttons, exactly how to make her blood boil and her cheeks flush with anger.

And he knew _exactly_ how to make her toes curl in ecstasy.

_Basstard_.

She had thought they were beyond this, beyond the infuriating battle of wits that somehow always led to sex. She had spent the past year and a half at Yale, and he at Duke, and the five hundred miles between them allowed her to forget the horrible, unyielding hold that he seemed to have over her entire being. But there it was, months later and still as strong as ever after only minutes in his presence.

Yes, she _definitely_ hated him.

She groaned inwardly at the thought, bringing the glass flute to her lips and downing the last of her Bellini. "I'm going home," she announced abruptly, uncrossing her legs and standing to her feet. She didn't wait for the others to respond before walking away from them, placing one Manolo in front of the other as she headed toward the bar's exit. If she called now, she thought, she could probably convince Serena to meet her at Bungalow for one last cocktail.

That, and to plot the slow, excruciating assassination of Charles Bartholomew Bass.

The winter air was frigid when Blair finally pushed through the crowd, busting through the front door and stumbling into the cold December air. The wind immediately whipped against her skin, penetrating her layers of clothing before she even had a chance to cringe at the feel of it's biting force.

She headed toward Jane Street on autopilot, her eyes scanning for the heavenly sight of a vacant cab, yet only spotting taxis with passengers loaded into the backseats. She rolled her eyes, suddenly hit with the realization of how difficult it could be to get a cab in the Village during the winter . "Fucking _great_," she muttered, pulling her cell phone from her clutch and searching for Serena's name.

She was just turning the street corner, scrolling through her Blackberry's address book when her black velvet peep-toe betrayed her, sliding traitorously across a patch of ice and knocking Blair momentarily (and ungracefully) off balance.

--

**Central Park, 1995**

The earliest memory Blair had of ice skating by herself occurred when she was five years old. Her father had taken her to the rink in Central Park the day it had opened, his giggling daughter at his side and her brand new pink ice skates tucked beneath his arm. Blair had perched herself on a bench as he'd laced them at her feet, admiring the way they perfectly matched the polka dots on her her mittens before voicing this very thought to her father. When she'd held up her gloved hands to show him, he'd nodded, smiling as he stood up and tousled her hair. "You're mother wouldn't have it any other way, princess."

She hadn't felt even a twinge of nervousness when she'd first glided across the ice, placing one wobbly foot in front of the other as her father had gripped her hand strongly, keeping her upright. It was the greatest experience she'd ever had, in fact, exhilarating and whimsical and liberating all at the same time.

It was a half hour later when Harold Waldorf had finally released his daughter's hand, nodding encouragingly and giving her shoulders a squeeze. "Just give it a shot, honey," he'd said. "You can do it all by yourself. I know you can."

And Blair had believed him because her daddy _never_ lied. She'd returned his smile before turning away, not even hesitating before skating ahead of him courageously. "Watch me, Daddy!" she'd yelled, grinning as she'd staggered along.

She hadn't turned around again until she was halfway across the rink, and it was then that she realized she could no longer see her father, his red knee-length coat no where in sight. She had immediately tensed, her knees locking and her eyes welling with tears as a sense of panic invaded her body. "Daddy!" she had called, her voice unsteady as her head whipped around. He was gone, though, she'd realized as her eyes frantically scanned the crowded rink, her mouth going dry and her hands becoming clamming beneath her cashmere mittens. "_Daddy!_"

It had only taken seconds for him to appear by her side, his hands immediately gripping her protectively and pulling her into his arms. Tears had flooded her cheeks as she'd buried her face into his Burberry scarf, the familiar scent of his cologne invading her senses as he'd stroked her back soothingly. "You're fine, Blair-bear," he'd told her, smiling and kissing the top of her head as he skated toward the wall of the rink. "I'm sorry you couldn't see me, sweetheart, but you're fine. I promise nothing's ever going to happen to you."

--

**Present day, West Village**

Blair hadn't thought of that day in years, so it was strange that such a random recollection flooded her mind at that particular moment. It was certainly a bittersweet memory, one that probably would've made her miss her father had she been able to feel anything other than an overwhelming sense of terror.

_I promise nothing's ever going to happen to you._

She couldn't help but think how ironic it was that those words were all that echoed through her head when, just as she regained her balance on the slippery sidewalk, a hand clamp over her mouth, roughly pulling her down an abandoned side-street as her cell phone clattered against the concrete.

–

Short, I know. I do what I can.


	3. Ripped Silk

A/N: Sorry it took me forever to post this chapter. This is the first chapter fic that I've attempted to write since graduating from school, and I must say, a full time job is not very conducive to writing fanfic. Such a predicament.

--

**Van Der Wooden Apartment**

When the elevator chimed and the shining doors parted, Chuck Bass certainly didn't expect to see the scene that lay before him. Eyebrows raised and smirk firmly in place, he stepped into the Van der Woodsen apartment. "Well, well; isn't this cozy."

Serena was the first to react, her eyes connecting with his from her place on the floor, where she sat with her back pressed against the chest of Dan Humphrey and his arm wrapped loosely around her waist. "Chuck!" she greeted, sitting up a little straighter and offering him a smile.

From the other side of the coffee table, Nate nodded a greeting in Chuck's direction. "Hey, man."

Chuck afforded him the same greeting before taking the direct route to the mini bar, pouring aged scotch into what used to be his father's favorite tumbler and turning his attention to the group seated around the coffee table. They were surrounded by empty glasses, ones which he could only assume had been filled with the contents of the abandoned wine bottles that were now resting on the mantle of the fireplace, and day-old leftovers from a holiday party thrown by Lilly. Serena picked up a plate of Bruschetta, extending it in his direction. "Hungry?"

He lifted his eyebrows and gave a quick shake of his head. "Nourishment tends to kill my buzz," he replied dryly, turning to face Nate with a grin plastered to his face. "So how's Dartmouth?" he questioned, taking another swallow of scotch as he sat on the couch. "Have you managed to ditch that washout of a roommate you got stuck with?"

Across the room, Dan groaned. "Um, I can _hear_ you."

He smiled. "I wasn't trying to keep my inquires a secret, Humphrey."

Serena glared in his direction. "Can you please be civil?" Sighing out of exasperation, she buried herself closer to Dan as she plucked a strawberry from a plate and popped it into her mouth. "Have you heard from Blair, by the way?" she questioned, lifting her gaze to meet Chuck's. "I thought she'd come over after Socialista, but she's not answering my texts."

He shrugged, swirling the remaining amber liquid around the bottom of his glass. "She's knows I'm staying here over the holiday break," he replied, his answer intentionally vague as he crossed a leg over his knee. "I doubt she'll be stopping by tonight."

Looking as though she dreaded his answer, Serena scowled at Chuck. "What did you do to her this time?"

It was predictable, Chuck thought, that Serena would assume the tension between Blair and himself was _his _fault, but he didn't voice this opinion. Instead, he simply looked up, giving his shoulders a gentle shrug. "Let's just say that I made Christmas _come _a little early this year for Blair."

Eyes rolled and groans passed through lips at the traditional Chuck Bass response. "_Chuck_!" Serena protested, simultaneous to Nate's, "Jesus, man do you always have to be so crass?"

Instantly, Chuck suddenly felt like he was back in high school. He grinned as a witty barb developed on the edge of his tongue, yet to be decided whether it would be hurled at his all too perky step-sister or his tragically tortured best friend, when the chime of Serena's cell phone diverted his attention. He picked it up from the table beside him, glancing at the screen before Serena had the chance to snatch it from his fingertips. "Well speak of the she-devil," he muttered, smirking as Serena opened her phone.

_Help please. Corner of Hudson and Jane. Hurry. -B_

Serena frowned, her forehead furrowed. "Blair wants me to come get her."

Nate narrowed his eyes. "Where is she?"

Tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear, she pursed her lips and absently replied, "Somewhere in the West Village."

Dan frowned. "Why can't she take a cab?"

Shrugging, Serena turned her attention back to her phone.

_What's wrong? Can you get a cab to my apt? It's late.  
_

Chuck leaned forward toward the coffee table, forgetting his intention to avoid the food as he grabbed a shrimp from the platter. "She's probably pissed because her lackeys went off to college and realized she doesn't actually reign over them." He chewed slowly, washing it down with the last of his scotch. "Tell her to come over. I'll make everything better."

Ignoring him, Serena checked Blair's response when her phone sounded it's arrival.

_Please, S._

And for some reason, Blair's simple plea caused Serena's heart to skip a beat. She sat up straighter, glancing at Dan. "I think I should go get her." When he nodded, demanding no further explanation, Serena smiled. "Will you come with me?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, of course." Standing to his feet, he offered her his hand. Across the coffee table, Chuck rolled his eyes as Serena allowed Dan to pull her from the floor. "Taking Humpty to the scene of the big rescue, S?" he sneered, shaking his head as he reached into his pocket. "Well that's fine. That'll give Nate and me a chance to catch up."

Serena rolled her eyes when Chuck produced a blunt from the depths of his pocket. With a shake of her head, she picked up her coat, slipping it on quickly before retrieving her purse. "We'll be back in a bit."

Chuck grinned. "No need to hurry, sis."

–

**Cab, West Village**

"Thanks for coming with me."

Serena had mumbled the words sleepily, her head rested against Dan's shoulder as the cab sped through the winding downtown streets. Dan shrugged, taking her hand and placing a light kiss on the top of her hair. "No need to thank me. I'm doing it for Blair," he answered in jest.

Serena giggled, elbowing him gently. "Is there something I should know about, Humphrey?"

And just like that, they fell into their old ways of playful banter. He nodded with faux solemness. "Yes, Serena. I've been meaning to tell you that Blair and I have been carrying on a torrid love affair." He shook his head as the cab came to a stop. "It's been eating me up inside."

She smiled, handing the driver a twenty dollar bill and opening her door. "I've always thought you two belonged together," she quipped, grabbing his hand as he stepped out of the cab. Peaking her head inside the car door, she added, "Hey, can you wait for us? We're just picking up a friend."

With a nod from the cab driver, Serena and Dan turned away from the car, their eyes scanning the sidewalk for any sign of Blair. "Do you see her?"

Serena shook her head, pulling out her phone. "She said this is where she was going to be."

They walked a bit down Jane Street as Serena typed a text to Blair, Dan's hand resting on the small of her back. "Maybe we should try walking down Hudson."

Serena's phone chimed at the arrival of Blair's reply, and she immediately shook her head. "No, she said she's standing in front of Bonsignour Cafe."

"Oh." Dan narrowed his eyes, turning to face the opposite side of the street. "But isn't that-"

She quickly looked up from her phone when Dan stopped talking, her eyebrows furrowed as she stared at him questioningly. "What?" she asked, her gaze following his line of vision to the light pooling beneath a street lamp on the other side of the road. "Is that her?"

"I think so."

They checked for traffic before crossing in the middle of the street, and when Serena's hand slipped into Dan's, he didn't comment on the slight tremor of her fingers. Instead, he simply squeezed her hand back, rushing alongside her as she quickly approached the tiny brunette sitting on the bench, her head bowed and her hand clutching the front of her dress. "Blair?"

Serena's voice was quiet, almost cautious as they approached, yet it startled Blair nonetheless, causing her to jolt as she looked up quickly, her eyes wide. At the sight of her face, her hallow eyes and her skin patched with rosy welts, Serena couldn't contain a gasp. "Oh my god, B. What the hell happened to you?"

Blair brushed off Serena's concern, idly fingering the marks she knew were forming on her face as she stood up on quivering legs. "Took you long enough to get here," she instantly complained as shivers wracked her body, but the barb of her insult fell short at the sound of the trembling in her voice. Dan shrugged off his coat and placed it around Blair's shoulders, thinking that it nearly swallowed her. She offered him a weak smile, rolling her eyes. "Well _thanks_, Humphrey. Do you have any idea how long I'm going to have to scrub my skin now just to get the stench of _Brooklyn _off me?"

Serena frowned, but ignored her comment. "Blair, what _happened_?"

She swallowed, growing tearful as she lifted her chin. "Can you just take me home, please?"

Serena shook her head. "But B-"

"I got mugged, okay?" she interrupted, her expression leaving little room for argument. "The asshole took my favorite Chloe clutch _and _my Winston choker. It's a tragedy. Can we just go?"

Swallowing through a lump of dread lodged in her throat, Serena reached her hand out to take Blair's. Immediately, Blair jerked away, nearly stumbling backward onto the bench before she caught herself, steadying her feet. Serena's concern multiplied, her eyes narrowed as they swept over Blair's petite frame. "But your dress, B," she murmured.

Blair looked down at the ripped fabric of her newest Nanette Lepore, knowing that the harsh glow of the street lamp made it impossible to hide the deep flush of her cheeks. "It's fine," she mumbled, her jaw fixed with pride when she looked up. "I have others just like it."

Dan had been silent up to this point, but felt compelled to speak up when he suspected that Serena was at a loss for words. "I don't think that's what she meant."

At his comment, Blair's head whipped around, her eyes wide and full of tears when they connected with his. "I know what she _meant_, Humphrey," she snapped. She immediately shook her head, regaining her composure after feeling a blush of embarrassment sweep across her cheeks. She shivered, clutching the edges of Dan's jacket closed before meeting their worried gazes. "Look, I texted you because I don't have any money for a cab _or _my house keys. Because I was _mugged_. If I had known you were going to hassle me, I would have texted someone else."

"Please, B, just-"

Blair closed her eyes at the sound of Serena's plea, the trembling of her best friend's voice suddenly too much for her to handle. As her eyes fluttered shut, her lids instantly pressed twin tears down her flushed, frozen cheeks. She sniffed, idly swiping the moisture away with fingers that had long since turned numb from the cold. "Please, Serena," she whispered. "Just ... please just take me home."

And the defeat in Blair's voice, the instant slumping of her shoulders, stopped any further questions that Serena might have had. Nodding, Serena held back her own tears. "Of course," she answered, her voice equally muted as the three walked toward the waiting cab.

–

Reviews of any kind are always appreciated :)


	4. Secrets

**Thank you to Amelia, Anne, modernxxmyth, cz, and Friendsfan for your generous (and anonymous) reviews :)**

--

It's funny, Blair thought, how a moment in time can so totally alter the course of your life, can so completely transform the person that you were on the path to becoming.

But it could, she realized.

It had.

For instance, if someone had predicted that she would ever allow herself to lean against the body of Dan Humphrey for support, for _relief, _she would have certainly rolled her eyes before adding them to her list of people who deserved no less than complete social annihilation. The idea that she would allow any part of herself to _touch_ a Humphrey was laughable. She'd never be so desperate for help, never be so weak in front of anyone (other than Serena, perhaps. Or Chuck, after one too many cocktails).

That, however, had been the Blair of yesterday.

That had been the Blair of two _hours _ago.

The new Blair, the _tainted _Blair, suspected that Dan Humphrey was actually nothing short of her saving grace. She was sure of it, in fact, because were he to let his arm drop from where it lay wrapped firmly around her shoulders, she was certain that her knees would buckle and she would instantly tumble to the floor of the elevator into a clump of devastation.

She hadn't spoken a word during the entire cab ride to Serena's Upper East Side apartment, her head remaining lowered and her eyes tightly shut. It was easier that way, almost comforting to command her mind to focus on the little things that didn't actually matter; the nervous patter of Dan's foot tapping against the floor of the cab, the number of honks disturbing the night on the busy New York streets. And it had worked to keep her calm and composed.

Almost.

It had worked until she'd felt Serena's hand cover hers at the intersection of Park and 57th, her touch light and unassuming and certainly meaning no harm. But as the cool, slender fingers slid over her own, her concentration had cracked, and her stomach had dropped as her mind instantly flashed to the hand that had covered her mouth on the lonely street corner in the village. When she'd whimpered quietly, yanking her hand away and praying that the car was dark enough to hide the tears that suddenly spilled down her cheeks, Serena had frowned but hadn't utter a word.

Now, as they rode up to Van der Woodsen's penthouse in an elevator filled with a lifetime's worth of tension, Blair finally broke the silence, clearing her throat before asking, "Is your mom home, S?"

Serena looked down, hearing the hint of anxiety in Blair's voice. She frowned, gesturing with a slight shake of her head. "She and Eric are in New Canaan visiting my grandmother." Then, as an afterthought she added, "But Nate's there, I think. And Chuck."

Blair didn't make a sound at the announcement of Serena's house guests, barely reacting at all except for the instant influx of tension that quickly filled her body. She swallowed, lifting her chin as the elevator chimed and the doors divided.

The parting of the elevator doors brought forth the sound of laughter echoing from the den. They stepped into the foyer, instantly hit with the fading scent of marijuana wafting through the air. Shrugging off her coat, Serena tossed her bag onto the table, calling to the boys sitting just out of eyesight. "We're back."

And then there was another laugh. A cough. A clearing of a throat. Chuck yelling, "Did you two manage to save Waldorf from her latest tragedy?"

Stiffening, Blair blew out a breath, wrapping Dan's jacket more tightly around her body as they made their way toward the den. Nate's face froze the moment they came into view, his laughter immediately quieting as he shot up from his chair. "_Fuck_, Blair. What the hell happened to you?"

She stilled momentarily before before forcing out a laugh, the sound of it choked and high pitched as Chuck turned to follow Nate's line of vision. Her eyes briefly met his, but the instant clouding of his expression caused her to swallow self-consciously, and she shifted her gaze back to Nate, smiling lightly. "Well thanks, Archibald. You certainly haven't lost your charm."

He shook his head apologetically. "No, I'm sorry. I just ..." He trailed off, his eyes darting between Serena and Dan, looking for answers that they seemed unwilling to provide. "I - _Jesus_, Blair. I mean, are you _okay_? What happened?"

She scoffed, flippant. "I'm fine. _God_, I wish everyone would stop being so melodramatic." Kicking off her shoes, she instantly winced when the scrapes beneath her ripped tights screamed in protest. "I was mugged outside of Socialista. It's not a big deal. Really, it's probably a miracle it hasn't happened before."

Nate frowned. "Well, shouldn't you go to the police or something?"

She shrugged, nonchalant except for the way her fingernails dug into her palms to the beat of a silent rhythm. "I'm tired, Nate. I'm not really in the mood for-"

And then her lips clamped shut, her nervously rambled words cut short as Chuck stepped forward, catching her eye with a gaze so fierce her breath hitched in her throat. His mouth parted as though he planned to speak, his fists curling at his side as he approached her. The room was silent, watching; waiting for him to say something. He swallowed, taking a breath. "Blair?"

He uttered her name quietly, using the hushed, intimate voice that he normally reserved for the bedroom. The one that he had _used_ to use – a lifetime ago, it seemed - to whisper words of adoration, of promises of a future. She pushed that thought to the back of her mind, though, lifting her chin and staring at him expectantly. "_What_?"

He lifted his fingers to her cheek as though to touch her, to cup her battered face into the palm of his hand, but he dropped it just as quickly, his eyes shifting to Nate's, to Serena's, to Dan's. Anywhere but hers. "I …" He instantly quieted, realizing he couldn't get any words passed the swell of sorrow that seemed to choke him, cutting off his air.

She frowned, pressing her lips firmly closed as she willed the approaching tears away. He couldn't even look at her, she realized. Her heart seized in her chest.

And somehow the silence seemed to grow even quieter.

Finally she looked away, letting out a shuddering breath and shrugging off Dan's coat. She ignored the way Nate's eyes widened at the image of her without the protection of Dan's jacket; ignored the reddening of Chuck's face, the clenching of his teeth at the sight of the bruises forming along her normally flawless skin.

Tossing the jacket onto the back of the couch, she glanced at Serena and Dan. "Thanks for saving me from my latest tragedy."

And then she tossed a glare in Chuck's direction, turning to leave the room. "I'm going to bed."

–

She kept the room dark, the light of the city below providing more than enough illumination as she slowly unzipped her dress in front of the vanity mirror, grimacing at her reflection as it tumbled to the floor into a heap of gold silk. She brought her hand to her face, running her fingers across the marks that she knew couldn't be camouflaged.

Faint bruises ran along her cheek bones, another one forming under her left eye. Her beauty was gone, battered away until nothing was left except for raw, ugly reminders of everything she wanted to forget. Her body ached, had been aching for awhile now, and as she glared at the splattering of red and purple welts appearing across the length of her body, she couldn't help wondering if it was a pain that would ever go away.

She wasn't entirely surprised when the door opened behind her; wasn't even surprised to see Chuck's face appear in the threshold. He met her eyes through the mirror's reflection, not waiting for an invitation before wandering inside and shutting the door firmly behind him.

She glared, rolling her eyes as she slipped into one of Serena's Brown University t-shirts. "What do you want, Chuck?"

He was quiet for a moment, almost reverent as he crossed the room to sit on the edge of Serena's bed. "I want to make sure you're okay."

She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Do I _look_ okay?"

It wasn't a question that required an answer; they both knew she didn't even remotely resemble the composed, pristine person she normally was. "What happened tonight, Blair? _Really_?"

She huffed, appearing angry despite the tremors that seemed to vibrate throughout her frame. "I told you what happened."

Hands fisting against his thighs, he suppressed his frustration. "Don't lie to me." He stood, moving to stand behind her. "_Look _at you. Fuck, I'm _worried_ about you, Blair!"

Fury flashed across her face. "You don't _get_ to worry about me!" she gritted out, her eyes wide and tearful as they connected with his through the reflection of the mirror. "I'm nothing to you, _remember_? How many times have you told me, Chuck? I'm not your girlfriend! I'm not your responsibility."

He scowled. "You're everything to me," he retorted. "You know that."

"_Everything_?" She laughed, bitter and angry. "You don't get to pretend that I mean more to you just because something horrible happened tonight." Her jaw clenched as she turned away from the mirror, placing them face to face as her eyes narrowed hatefully. "I'm not _everything _to you, Chuck. I'm nothing more to you than an easy target and a quick fuck. Which, come to think of it, seems to be quite the common viewpoint tonight."

And with that confession, the world seemed to stop.

He couldn't breathe. He felt like someone had punched him in the gut as her words echoed in his head, over and over again like some sort of twisted mantra. _An easy target. A quick fuck. _He had suspected, sure; he had known that there was something more to her story the moment he had seen the bruises covering her body, the torn dress barely clinging to her frame. _An easy target. A quick fuck. _But hearing her utter the words, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment the instant her confession filled the silence, took the breath out of him, filled his eyes with tears that seemed to mirror her own. "Christ, Blair-"

She cut him off with a shake of her head. "Don't. Just - just get out."

He tried to reach for her, his heart slamming against his chest. "No, I-"

"Get _out_!" she screamed.

He was quiet, shocked at the the amount of fury that seemed to seep from her pores. Her face was red, her eyes wild and rimmed with fatigue. He nodded as he took a step back, giving her space. "I just want help you," he uttered, his eyes begging her to reach out to him, to trust him.

Her face softened, just slightly as her gaze flickered to the floor. She sniffed; whimpered quietly as she suffocated a threatening sob. "Well I don't want your help," she whispered.

And as he receded from the room, his eyes glued to her frame as he silently slipped out the door, he was astounded at just how much it hurt him to hear those words fall across her lips.


	5. Light

Thanks to Hannah, EEK, dancer150, L, and cz for your reviews! They're very appreciated :)

--

**Van der Woodsen Apartment**

A tea kettle sat in the middle of the round breakfast table, steaming and untouched. Serena had been the mastermind behind that one, thinking that it would be helpful – comforting, maybe - to have while they waited for Chuck to emerge from the bedroom. No one lifted their brimming mugs of chamomile, however, instead remaining quiet and unmoving, waiting silently for Chuck as a battle raged down the hallway behind the closed door of Serena's bedroom.

_You don't get to worry about me! I'm nothing to you, remember?_

Blair's voice echoed down the marble corridor, broken and full of rage and causing them to shift uncomfortably in their seats. Dan cleared his throat, pursed his lips as he pushed his mug toward the center of the table. "Uh, maybe I should go home. Give you guys some space."

Serena frowned, instantly moving to cover his hand with hers. "Dan, _no_. You should stay here tonight. It's late."

Nate nodded in agreement. "Yeah, man. There's plenty of room."

Seconds ticked by, marked by the rhythmic clanking of Serena's spoon as she stirred her tea purposelessly. Thoughts were swimming in their minds, unanswered questions tugging at their nerves as the minutes crawled. Quiet sighs made way for louder yawns, their eyes becoming hooded with fatigue.

_Get out!_

They all straightened in their seats, becoming alert at the sound of Blair's brutal demand. It was followed by a near silence, Blair and Chuck's quiet mumbling muffled by the door and making it impossible for their straining ears to hear what was going on inside.

But then Chuck appeared in the hallway, looking deflated and destroyed, and suddenly they didn't have to wonder anymore. Serena frowned, biting her lip in nervous anticipation as he approached the table. "How is she?"

It would have been predictable for Chuck to have answered with a quick, biting reply; perhaps, though, it was more telling that he merely shook his head, slumping into the empty seat between Nate and Dan with an expression more dark than the one he'd worn following the death of Batholomew Bass. "Tired, I think. She's going to bed."

Chuck was teetering on the edge between rage and sorrow, Nate realized, and he couldn't help wondering which would be a more damning fate. He gripped the mug of tea tightly between his hands, knowing that the pain from the scorching ceramic couldn't even compare to the pain that Blair must be feeling twenty feet away. He cleared his throat, studying Chuck's features. "Well, did she say anything?" Oh course she had. They'd all heard the callous words she'd hurled at Chuck. "About what happened tonight, I mean."

Chuck blew out a jagged breath, swallowing the surge of bile that threatened to emerge from his throat. It was a simple question, really, but the answer enraged him, tore at his soul. He sighed, his fingers gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white at the effort. "He hurt her," he finally uttered, his voice quiet as his eyes narrowed to stare sightlessly at the table. "He took something that wasn't his to take."

And it had nothing to do with the Chloe bag; nothing to do with the necklace.

They were all silent, hearts heavy because no one needed Chuck to clarify.

–

Her jaw was set, her palm wrapped around the handle of the hairbrush in a death-grip as she raked the bristles through her long, damp strands. Her eyes were steel-like, fixed and unforgiving as she studied herself in the mirror, critiquing her appearance in a way that only the daughter of Eleanor Waldorf could. She wondered what her mother would think if she could see her now, disheveled and damaged with no one to blame except for herself. She frowned, suspecting that she knew exactly what her mother would think.

This is how Serena found her when she slipped through her bedroom door, Blair's eyes narrowed on her own reflection, her mouth set into a prim frown. It was a common scene from their history, a familiar chapter from the book of their friendship: Blair hiding out in Serena's bedroom, an impromptu sleepover so that Blair could avoid whatever drama was going on in her life at the time. Except this wasn't about a fight with Nate; it wasn't about a painful barb from Eleanor or an embarrassing post on Gossip Girl. It couldn't be fixed with Godiva's Gold Collection and an assortment of Grace Kelly movies.

In fact, Serena suspected that it probably couldn't be fixed at all.

She smiled despite this, hesitant and nervous as she walked into the room. "Chuck said you'd gone to bed already. I thought you'd be asleep."

Blair shrugged, not returning her smile. "I decided to shower first." To wash the smell of him off of her skin, she silently thought; to rid herself of the sticky reminder between her legs that she prayed to God was left over from her earlier encounter with Chuck.

Serena nodded as she walked to her bureau, changing out of her party dress and removing the gold rings from her shaking fingers "I'm tired," she said absently, an attempt to fill the silence. "I can't believe how late it is." She sighed quietly when Blair didn't answer, perching herself on the corner of the bed and studying her best friend's profile.

Blair rolled her eyes in response, turning to look at her pointedly. "_What_?" she demanded, her eyes steadfast and impatient. "God, I know I look disgusting, but you don't have to stare at me like I have the bubonic plague or something."

Serena frowned, her heart sinking as she shook her head. "You don't look disgusting, B."

"Oh _please_, I'm a disaster. And this horrible t-shirt certainly doesn't help." She forced out a flippant laugh, making a point of fingering the brown cotton. "Really, S. You should consider transferring to a different college just so you don't have to subject yourself to Brown's heinous apparel. Is this thing made of hemp or something?"

Serena scowled. "Stop being evasive, Blair." But Blair merely puffed in reply, turning away from her with a roll of her eyes, and Serena suspected it was better to drop the subject altogether. "Fine, let's just go to bed, okay?" She yawned and stood up to unfold the duvet, her movements sluggish as fatigue finally got the better of her. She sat on the corner of the mattress, the sheets cool against her thighs as she watched Blair walk across the room, avoiding Serena's gaze as she climbed into the other side of the bed. "Do you think you're going to be able to sleep tonight?"

She stilled at the question, her body stiffening defensively as she turned to face Serena. "Of course," she answered, her voice sounding taut and intolerant. "Why wouldn't I?"

She was baiting her, of course, itching for a fight in typical Blair fashion. Serena shrugged, fidgeting with the hem of her slip. "I don't know," she mumbled. "I thought that you might be upset about tonight-"

"Well, I'm not," Blair snapped, "so just drop it, okay?"

They didn't speak again until they were both safely tucked beneath the covers, Blair positioned on her side to keep her face out of view. Serena shifted in her spot, frowning as she studied the outline of Blair's back. "Good night."

Blair swallowed, trembling against the sudden swell of dread that she felt at the idea of closing her eyes, at the idea of her mind forcing her to visit places she never wanted to experience again. "Night, S," she whispered.

And then Serena flipped off the light, rolling onto her side as she let out a yawn, and an instant wave of panic spread throughout Blair's body. She drew in a breath, forcing her voice steady. "Leave it on, please."

Serena couldn't help noting the small and unsteady sound of Blair's voice, so unlike her best friend that she barely recognized it for what it was. She turned, her forehead furrowed as she angled herself closer. "What, B?"

Lips trembling, Blair blew out an anxious breath. "The _light_. Can you leave it on?" She sniffed, gripping the covers tightly between her fingers. "_Please_?"

Serena's face fell as she clicked on the light, mumbling an apology as she frowned helplessly. "Are you okay?

Blair nodded, shrugging off her apologies. "I'm fine." She pushed her face toward the pillow, refusing to meet Serena's gaze as she buried her nose into the silky cotton. "Let's just go to sleep."

And she didn't mention that she actually had no intention of sleeping, no intention of allowing her eyes to flutter closed or her mind to wander into the world of dreams. Instead, she forced herself to breathe evenly, not even trying to stop the tears from leaking from her wide, tired eyes as she waited for the sun to appear.

–

As always, thanks for reading. I would love to hear your opinions :)


	6. Beauty

**Thanks to cz, Danielle, and anon for their anonymous reviews :) Enjoy!  
**

–

**Van der Woodsen apartment**

The sun never actually rose; instead, gloomy clouds shadowed the city, opening in the early morning to blanket Manhattan in a layer of snow and ice. Blair watched the flurries fall passed Serena's bedroom window, willing herself to get out of bed. She could hear the faint sounds of people moving throughout the Van der Woodsen apartment; the clattering of kitchen utensils, the shutting of a door, the resonating of familiar voices. And then there was a knock, soft and hesitant, followed by the sound of Nate's voice. "Blair? Are you awake?"

She resisted the urge to ignore him altogether, to bury herself beneath the layers of covers and pretend not to have heard him. But it wouldn't help, she knew, to put off the inevitable. So instead she merely sighed, pushing away the duvet cover and rolling onto her back. "What do you want, Nate?"

He appeared before her, clothed in the same attire he'd been wearing the night before, proof that he had yet to leave the apartment. He smiled, putting forth his best warmhearted expression, but it couldn't quite counter the horrified furrow of his forehead when he noticed the swelling of her cheek beneath the layer of bruises, the trail of angry welts running along her forearm.

She swallowed, opting to stare at the ceiling rather than face the pitying grimace Nate couldn't seem to control. "Did you need something, Archibald?" she repeated.

He cleared his throat, his eyes shifting toward the door. "Uh, yeah. I just wanted to let you know that we have breakfast."

She nodded, closing her eyes. "Fine." She actually wasn't hungry, but she was tired (exhausted, really) and not in the mood for arguing. "I'll be there in a few minutes. I just need to wash my face."

Nate nodded, satisfied, and backed out of the room, leaving Blair alone to stare at the ceiling for a bit longer.

Just as she'd planned, her night had been sleepless. It had been sleepless until the breaking of dawn, that is, and then her body had betrayed her, giving in to exhaustion and locking her into the dreams she'd been hoping to avoid. Now, as she sat up, yawning and pushing her hair from her face, her body seemed to forsake her once again as aches echoed from every nerve ending in her frame. She winced, tears pricking behind her eyelids.

She walked into the bathroom, flipping on the switch as she grudgingly faced the mirror. She didn't even try to hold back the instinctual scowl at the sight of her reflection. The girl who stared back disgusted her, revolted her in every way possible.

This wasn't her reflection, she assured herself. It couldn't be.

The stranger facing her, with wide, gaping eyes and lips parted in horror, was ugly and weak; two things that Blair Cornelia Waldorf would never allow herself to become. She shuddered, leaning against the sink as cold water ran from the faucet.

She washed her face, brushed her teeth, layered her skin with moisturizer. She ran a comb through her strands, sweeping them into a ponytail before immediately rejecting that idea, opting to release the brown waves with the hope that they would camouflage her bruised flesh. And when she was finished, she actually looked slightly more refreshed, she acknowledged, setting the brush back onto the vanity.

Which left her looking refreshed and _revolting_.

But for every problem, there is a solution (she liked to think so, anyway). She sighed, resolved, and picked up Serena's make-up bag.

It was another twenty minutes before she emerged from the bedroom, make-up in place and one of Serena's sweater dresses fit perfectly around her figure. She felt good – well, _better_, at least – certainly much more like herself now that she appeared presentable. She could almost convince herself that it was like any other day, a casual brunch amongst friends following a night of diversion and debauchery.

Except that with every step she took, her heart becoming filled with nervous apprehension as she neared her waiting companions, the uncomfortable twinge between her thighs reminded her that today was anything but ordinary.

She rounded the corner of the dining room with a smile plastered to her face, catching the others off guard with her unusually cheerful demeanor. They stilled in their seats, surprised, immediately becoming silent. She narrowed her eyes, plopping into the chair between Chuck and Serena. "Oh please," she smiled sarcastically, her expression filled with faux-sweetness as she placed a napkin in her lap, "don't stop gossiping about me on my account."

It was clear that her assumption was accurate based on the guilt that crossed their features. Serena was the first to recover, straightening her shoulders and returning Blair's smile, "You look good, B."

Blair cocked her head, lifting her eyebrows as she stared at her pointedly. "God, Serena, don't sound so surprised."

But she did look good, Serena thought; far better than she had when she'd surveyed her appearance earlier that morning. The bruises were now covered – not completely, but enough so that she now actually resembled herself – and the circles beneath her eyes were camouflaged beneath a layer of foundation.

She'd certainly made a good effort, and had Serena not known Blair as well as she did, she probably wouldn't have even noticed the layers of turmoil building beneath the surface.

The presentation of food resembled a feast rather than the casual brunch Blair had anticipated. She lifted a brow as she allowed her eyes to sweep across the overflowing plates, smirking slightly as she cleared her throat. "Are we expecting more guests?" she asked, crossing her ankles beneath the table. "Our entire graduating class, perhaps?"

Dan piped up for the first time that morning, nodding slightly as his lips curled downward. "I'll admit that I was bit overzealous in the preparation of breakfast."

Nate nodded, lifting his coffee mug to his lips. "Just a bit."

He had indeed been overzealous, whipping up platefuls of pancakes and bacon and eggs over-easy. Which, to this point, had remained untouched. Dan cleared his throat, raising his eyebrows as he lifted the plate of eggs. "I guess we should eat."

And so they did, remaining silent for the most part, the unavoidable tension in the room acting as an additional guest. No one spoke of the night before; no one mention the growing elephant that seemed to have plopped itself in the middle of the breakfast table. Blair frowned at the quiet, pushing her food around her plate with disinterest until Chuck's voice broke through her reverie. "Aren't you hungry?"

It was the first time he had spoken to her all morning; the first time he'd uttered a word to her since she'd verbally assaulted him the night before. She scowled, her eyes flickering to meet his. "I'm eating, Chuck," she snapped. It was a blatant lie, obvious to anyone who'd noticed she'd barely put two bites into her mouth, but he didn't point that out. She stared down at her plate, squeezing her fork until the silver bit into her palm. "Stop treating me like a child."

He huffed. "Fine," he bit out, setting his fork calmly against the table. "I'll stop treating you like a _child."_ He paused in thought as he captured his lower lip between his teeth, chewing on it contemplatively until he nearly punctured the skin. "I'll stop treating you like a child when you start acting like an _adult _and deal with what happened. You can't just ignore this; pretend like it didn't happen. You need to go to a doctor, Blair."

It had been a group decision to broach the topic, one that had been greatly debated throughout the majority of the morning, but he didn't see a reason to bring the others down with him. She looked up sharply at the mention of his suggestion, appearing angry and defensive just as he'd predicted. "You need to let a doctor examine you; you need to make sure that you're alright," he finished.

She wasn't sure which was worse, the ambush itself or the humiliation that followed. She could feel the warmth in her cheeks as the table became uncomfortably silent, waiting. "I don''t need _you _telling me what's best for me, Bass. Stop pretending like you care," she seethed, her gaze hateful as her eyes shifted from his. She was furious, hurt, devastated. And she was losing control. "Just stay the hell out of my life."

And then she picked up her glass of orange juice, bringing it to her lips with trembling fingers. She took a sip, then another before placing the glass back on the table. Inhaling deeply, she raised her eyes. Guard back up; control teetering into place. "Besides," she added, her gaze trained anywhere other than in Chuck's general vicinity, "my mother's arriving from Paris today. I really don't have time."

She smiled thinly as she stood, folding her napkin so that the soiled edges were out of sight, just as she'd been taught. Always prim; always proper. "Thank you for breakfast, Humphrey. It was lovely."

And then she disappeared around the corner, leaving Chuck tumultuous, shoving his chair from the table and grabbing the nearest bottle of scotch. Serena frowned, tears hovering in her eyes. _"Chuck_," she protested, "it's barely ten o'clock."

But he ignored her, pouring a hearty helping into the tumbler and glancing down the empty hallway. "She's so fucking stubborn," he snarled, taking a swallow of the amber liquid. It burned its way down his throat, landing hot in his belly.

Nate frowned. "You can't force her to do something she's not ready to do, Chuck."

He glared, shaking his head. "I'm aware of that, Nathaniel," he spat. "_Thanks."_

Serena sighed, choosing to ignore them as she released a shuddering breath. "She'll be okay," she uttered, quiet and unconvincing. "She just needs time."

That was Serena for you, Chuck thought; always grasping at the silver lining, even when there wasn't a silver lining to cling to. Laughing sardonically, he pushed his glass away. "If you believe that, _sis_, you're more naive than I thought." He sighed, scowling. "This isn't going to disappear just because Blair ignores it."

Dan's lips were pressed into a thin line, his hand covering Serena's as he nodded in agreement. "I never thought I would say this, but Chuck has a point."

Standing, Chuck allowed himself one more swallow of scotch. "Where are going?" Nate asked.

Lips curling into a frown, he set the tumbler onto the table. "To talk some goddamn sense into Blair."

His feet felt heavy as he moved down the hallway, his heart thudding angrily as he placed his hand on Serena's doorknob. He took a breath, trying to suppress his resentment, his fury over the entire situation. "Blair?" he called, his voice bouncing off the heavy oak as he knocked briskly, walking through the door without waiting for a reply. He had expected to find her furiously pacing the room, perhaps plotting his death or ripping up all the photographs in which he was pictured, so he frowned when he found the room empty, his photos still intact.

And then he heard it: the most heart wrenching sound he'd ever experienced reverberating through the bathroom door. His breath hitched; his stomach lurched. He was at the threshold within three giant strides, through the door in a matter of seconds. "Blair?" he whispered.

He found her on the floor, her back against the cabinets and her knees drawn to her chest. Her eyes were rimmed and swollen, her face stained with tears. And she was shaking, violent tremors moving throughout her body as sobs choked her, cutting off her oxygen.

It was instant, the utter heartbreak that Chuck felt upon seeing her like this. Broken. Shattered into a million pieces. He fell to his knees, taking her face between his hands. He was gentle, but his eyes were panicked and pleading. "Blair, you're okay. Just breathe." His eyes met hers, the brown of her orbs drowning beneath the weight of her tears. She choked; sobbed. She struggled to catch her breath. "Christ, Blair," he whispered, "calm down."

She tried, _really_ tried, dragging in breath after breath as she grasped at any semblance of control, but her cries were suffocating, defeating her. She shook her head, grasping the front of his shirt between her fists as though he were her lifeline. And perhaps he was.

Chuck sighed, pulling her to him until she was nestled into his lap, her head tucked beneath his chin. She stiffed at the gesture, froze when he buried his nose in her hair. But we has gentle, careful, his hand rubbing her back in circles in a way she never expected from Chuck Bass.

And slowly calmed; relaxed.

Tremors still plagued her body, aftershocks from the storm. She shuddered, burying her face into his shirt. "Don't tell anyone that I cried," she whispered. He frowned, hearing the humiliation in her voice. Her breathing was quieting, her eyes drooping from the exhaustion of it all, and for just a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like if Chuck were hers; if she were his. If he were holding her in his arms because he loved her, not because of sort of misplaced chivalrous code.

She sighed, imagining. "I hate that you get to see me like this," she mumbled.

And had she been looking up, had she had the courage to meet his eyes, she would have seen the tears that clung to his lashes. He shook his head, kissing the top of her head. "You're beautiful," he protested. "You'll always be beautiful to me, Blair."


	7. Pills

_**A/N: More anon feedback!**_

_**cz: **_Thanks for your review! I had to Google translate part of it, but it was quite effective ;) Your encouragement is always very appreciated!

_**pinkcy: **_ I'm glad to hear that you're enjoying the story. It's especially encouraging to get positive feedback who has dealt with something like this. Thanks for leaving feedback!

_**Danielle: **_Thanks for your sweet comment. I'm glad that you enjoyed the CB interaction at the end of the chapter :)

_**--**_

_**Waldorf Apartment**_

His palm slipped into hers, warm and heavy, as though he had suspected that his support was exactly what she needed. She turned to meet his gaze, only to find that his eyes were trained on the numerical count above the elevator door, each number brightening as the elevator car made the slow crawl toward the Waldorf penthouse.

His fingertips felt soft against the back of her hand, almost gentle, but even the uncharacteristic tenderness couldn't ward off the instinctive stiffening of her spine when his fingers wrapped around hers. She swallowed, forcing a half-hearted smirk. "Growing soft on me, Bass?"

He frowned when he felt her palm grow clammy before she extracted her hand from his, and he shifted his eyes toward her petite frame as she took a small step toward the opposite side of the elevator car. Had circumstances been different, he probably would've delivered a smirk and a sharp barb in response to her inquiry. _I'm never soft around you, Waldorf, _perhaps. Or maybe, _Oh right, I forgot you like it rough_. Today, though, he merely shrugged, glancing toward the door as the elevator chimed at their arrival. And he settled for a dose of honesty. "I guess you bring it out in me."

The door slid open to reveal the gleaming marble floor. Blair stepped out first, the clanking of her black pumps echoing in the empty foyer. She allowed her eyes to survey the apartment's entrance, noting that all traces of the previous night's soirée had long since been mopped and scrubbed and polished away.

The apartment was quiet as they walked passed the spiraling staircase and into the living room, no echoing footsteps or familiar voices to be heard. _And_, Blair noted, no one rushing to greet her, to tell her how worried they were when she didn't come home last night.

Chuck watched her frown, resisting the urge to place his hand against the small of her back. "Maybe they're not home yet," he offered. "Their flight might've been canceled because of the weather."

But then a voice broke through the silence, reverberating from somewhere on the second floor. "Blair, darling? Is that you?"

She turned, giving Chuck a knowing smile. "No one would dare cancel a flight on which Eleanor Waldorf was a passenger. That would be suicide." She walked toward the stairs, pausing at the bottom step. "Yes, Mother. It's me."

It was a few moments before Eleanor appeared before them, swathed in an sapphire original from her very own collection. Her hair was styled into a loose chignon, her makeup pristinely applied. She looked glamorous; elegant. Everything that Blair wanted to be; everything she seemed to fall short of. She inhaled, forcing a smile to her lips. "How was Paris?"

Eleanor beamed in response, descending the stairs at a graceful pace. "It was marvelous. Really, Blair, you should've joined us." Blair smiled, not pointing out the fact that she was never invited. Eleanor's eyes connected with Chuck's, and she offered him a civil greeting as she reached the bottom of the staircase. "Hello, Charles. It's certainly been awhile."

Chuck nodded. "Mrs. Rose. You're looking lovely, as always."

Ever the charmer, Blair thought. She pursed her lips, fighting to reclaim her mother's attention. "Where's Cyrus?"

"He's at the office," Eleanor replied. "Apparently they can't last seven days without-"

And then she stopped speaking as she turned to face her child, her mouth gaping open as she surveyed her daughter's appearance. Her eyes narrowed in surprise as she studied the marks on Blair's face, almost as though it was the first time that she was seeing her since she'd entered the room. And perhaps it was.

Blair's breath hitched at the sudden scrutiny, her cheeks flooding with color. "It looks worse than it is," she defended before her mother had a chance to utter a word, her fingers rising to her face to touch the bruises. To cover them. "Honestly, they'll probably fade within a couple of weeks."

Eleanor shook her head. "Doubtful," she replied absently, her eyes scanning the rest of her daughter's figure. "What on earth happened?"

Blair swallowed, her eyes shifting to Chuck's. A silent plea for him to remain silent. "I was mugged last night."

Eleanor frowned. "I thought that you were having a get-together _here?"_

"I did," she answered. She hated how her mother could dwell on the most insignificant details. "We went to the Village afterward. To Socialista."

Eleanor shook her head, evidence of her silent disapproval. Blair shifted from one foot to the other, nervous, anticipating her mother's next move. Behind her, she could feel Chuck approach, warm and comforting without even touching her. Just standing. Supporting. "I'm lucky," she added, conjuring an empty smile. "It couldn't been worse."

Eleanor scoffed. "I don't see how," she muttered, shaking her head. She took a step closer, her hand gently running across Blair's cheek. "Darling, this is just awful. Your beautiful face." She sighed, meeting her daughter's eyes. "Was anyone else hurt?"

"No," Blair uttered. She sighed, bracing herself for the onslaught of motherly disparagement. "I was alone."

And there it was, Eleanor's visible displeasure. "_Alone_? In the middle of the night?" She frowned, patronizing, her eyes becoming a sea of admonishment. "I thought you were smarter than that, Blair. _Honestly_. You're twenty years old; you should know better." And then she sighed, shaking her head as she forced herself back into the role of concerned mother. "Well, this is just horrific. You must've been terrified."

The tears appeared quickly, swimming in Blair's eyes. She nodded, her lips quivering as she allowed Eleanor to fold her into her arms. "I was," she whispered. The smell of her mother's Yves Saint Laurent fragrance tickled her nose, so familiar, so comforting, that she wished she could get lost in the embrace. She hadn't been held by her mother in years, not like _this_; a genuine, heartfelt gesture. She sighed, burying her nose into the crevice of Eleanor's shoulder. "I've never been so terrified in my life."

But the moment was over as quickly as it had begun, Eleanor pulling away to hold Blair at an arm's length, surveying her battered face once again. She wiped a fallen tear from her daughter's cheek, frowning. "Well, perhaps next time you'll be wiser about the choices you make," she said, tilting her head as she studied her. She pursed her lips, brushing a strand of hair from Blair's face. "What did the police say?"

Blair frowned, trying not to dwell of the sting caused by her mother's withdrawal of affection. "Nothing really. They're looking into it." Behind her, she felt Chuck stiffen. She knew that if he was going to speak up, now would be the time. She turned her head, her eyes out of Eleanor's view as she shot Chuck a vicious glare. "Right, Chuck?"

He had remained quiet up to this point, standing idly, _awkwardly_, as Blair and her mother spoke. He wanted to say something now, to tell the _truth_, but ultimately his alliance was with Blair. Whatever she wanted, he would give her. He met her eyes, his gaze piercing and astute. "That's right," he uttered, but his eyes were narrowed, seemingly shouting,_ We'll talk about this later. _

She returned his stare, challenging. _Case closed, Bass_, she seemed to say_. _And she knew she could win this one, because he always caved to her desires when she shot him the _look_.

But Blair was forced to forfeit their silent battle upon the clearing of Eleanor's throat, her mother's way of regaining control of the conversation. Blair sighed, dropping her eyes and turning to face the Waldorf inquisition. "And the doctor?" her mother pressed, gently running her fingers over Blair's swollen eye. "You did see a physician, I assume? Is there any permanent damage?"

_Yes_, Blair thought. _There's so much_. But she didn't volunteer this thought, instead merely shaking her head, giving a slight smile and a shrug of her shoulders. "I'm fine, Mother," she offered. Keep it vague. Keep in concise.

And that answer seemed to satisfy Eleanor Waldorf-Rose, at least for the time being, because when her phone rang moments later, the conversation was dropped. "It's Jenny," she explained, as though that in itself was a reason to abandon the conversation.

She hung up the phone after a brief discussion, and then she was gathering her coat and placing a kiss on Blair's cheek. "I have to go, darling," she explained, wrapping a scarf around her neck. "There's a problem with the Spring fabric swatches." She laughed humorlessly, grabbing her handbag from the foyer table. "There's always a problem to deal with, isn't there?"

Blair sighed, her eyes cast to the floor as she nodded. "I guess."

Eleanor frowned. "Are you going to be alright?"

It didn't matter what the true answer was, Blair knew. She understood what her mother wanted to hear. She smiled forcefully, nodding. "Of course."

Eleanor returned her smile, buttoning her coat to the neck before turning on her heel toward the elevator. "Charles, it was wonderful seeing you again," she called, her pumps clanking against the marble floor as she sauntered toward the apartment's exit. "Honey, I'll probably be home late. Don't wait up."

When her mother vanished behind the closing door of the elevator, Blair frowned, sighing. She felt exhausted, the confrontation leaving her feeling worse than she had before. She turned to Chuck, her eyes heavy. "Sometimes I wish that I could hate her," she uttered.

And he understood that better than she realized. He nodded, no longer able to resist placing a hand on her shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with that," he replied.

They climbed the stairs to the second floor, Blair trying not to wince as her muscles protested the movement. Chuck held up his arm so that she could press herself against him, letting him support her weight as they completed the remainder of the ascent. "Thanks," she mumbled when they reach the top of the landing, offering him a hint of a smile before disappearing down the hall.

He frowned, following her into her bedroom. "Don't think that we're not going to talk about this, Blair."

She shrugged out of her coat, rolling her eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You damn well _do_," he countered.

"Listen, Chuck-"

"No, Blair; _you listen." _He blew out a breath, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "Stop being so fucking stubborn. You seem to think that if you ignore this, it'll all disappear. You think that you can pretend that this never happened. Well it _did_-"

"I know that!" she snapped, her eyes full of malice. "Obviously I know it happened. I see him every time I close my eyes, Chuck. I _feel_ him. I _smell_ him. I think he's going to be around every corner I turn. I _know _it happened!"

His face softened; his shoulders slumped. He blew out a breath, shaking his head. Defeated by the words of Blair Waldorf. "Then I don't understand why you're being so evasive. You have to face this if you want to get over it."

She laughed, bitter. He _would _say something like that. "That's rich, coming from the boy who used opiates and scotch to forget his father died."

He scowled, wondering if they would ever be able to have a conversation without needing to hurl malicious words at one another. "Well learn from my mistakes, Waldorf."

She groaned, frustrated. Her face was pinched into a frown, her eyes full of tears that she refused to release in front of Chuck Bass. Not today. Not again. "This is not up for discussion."

And then Serena walked into the room, throwing the converation off balance with a hesitant smile. "What's not up for discussion?" she asked, placing her bag on Blair's desk. She stilled, feeling the tension the moment she looked between Chuck and Blair. "What's going on?"

Chuck glared at her, cursing her for choosing that moment to walk into the room. "Blair lied to her mother about what happened last night."

Serena turned to her best friend, her eyes filled with worry and confusion. "B, why-"

"Because this would destroy me!" she interrupted, frustration seeping into her voice. "I don't want everyone talking about this, okay? I don't want this on Gossip Girl; I don't want it in the _New York Times_." She plopped onto the edge of her bed, allowing her Manolos to fall from her tired feet. "You both know what occurs when horrible things happen to poor little rich girls. It would be all over the news. _Everyone _would know. I don't want to be the next Elizabeth Smart, the next Natalie Holloway. I don't want that for myself."

Serena frowned. "I get that Blair, I _do, _but that doesn't mean that you can't go to the police. It doesn't mean you can't get help."

"Just drop it, Serena_," _she said with a sigh. "Both of you, just leave it alone. _Please_."

And then she stood from her bed to pull a chemise from her bureau, and in the process, allowing her hand to wrap around a bottle of sleeping pills she'd pilfered from Eleanor's bathroom cabinet the previous summer (as it was, the cabinet resembled a pharmacy, and Blair had known the small bottle would never be missed). "I'm going to take a nap," she announced, turning to face Chuck and Serena.

"Okay." Serena bit her lip tentatively, nodding. "Um, I stopped by the drug store on my way here," she volunteered, pulling a plastic bag from her purse and holding it in Blair's direction.

Blair frowned. "What is it?"

Swallowing, she allowed Blair to take the bag from her hand. "It's the morning after pill."

Blair stilled, her breath hitching. It wasn't something she'd thought about. Not really. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes shifting to Serena's "Thanks," she muttered.

And when she turned to look at Chuck, she had to force herself not to take a step backward. He looked angry, enraged really, and Blair realized that the thought had never occurred to him, either. His face was red, as though his blood was boiling beneath his skin, and his hands were clenched at his sides as he stared at the small plastic bag clutched between Blair's hand. A blessing to undo a curse, perhaps.

Serena placed her hand on his arm, seemingly jolting him from his fury. She smiled at Blair, comforting and supportive. "We'll be downstairs if you need us," she offered.

Blair shook her head. "You don't have to stay," she said. But she didn't mean it; they could all hear the quiver in her voice at the prospect of being alone.

Serena walked toward the door, smiling. "No, I want to. I'm planning to raid your fridge," she said, a transparent excuse. "Hopefully Dorota saved the leftover lobster rolls from last night."

Chuck lingered in the doorway, his eyes connecting with Blair's. He sighed, his hand on the knob. "Are you going to be okay?"

She rolled the pill bottle in her hand, testing it's weight. It's what she needed; a dreamless sleep. She nodded, shrugging. "I'll be fine," she promised.

And so he shut the door, following the path of the hallway until he reached Serena at the bottom of the stairs. Once again, his face was enraged as he shoved his hand into his pocket, extracting his phone.

Serena frowned, allowing herself to lean against the mahogany table in the center of the foyer. "I don't know what to do, Chuck," she sighed, rubbing her pulsating forehead. "I feel like this is out of our league."

He scowled, flipping open his phone. "Don't worry about it; I'm taking care of it."

His comment caused her to still, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Such promises were never good when they came from the likes of Charles Bartholomew Bass "Wait, what do you mean?"

He met her eyes with a fierce gaze, his features dark and full of wrath. "I mean exactly what I said," he uttered, walking toward the elevator as he scrolled through his address book. "I'll take care of it."

–

A/N: Ugh, that was a really long chapter for me. I might go fall into a coma now.


	8. Purged

**Waldorf Apartment**

The first time Serena had shown up at the Waldorf penthouse, suitcase in one hand and Eric's fingers wrapped around her other, she had been sure that her best friend was going to explode beneath the burden of her own indignation.

_She just left you alone_? Blair had asked, her eight year old lips forming a disgruntled frown upon learning that they'd been abandoned in favor of Lily's newest fling. _For a stupid boy?! _

And after Dorota had scurried off to make three hot chocolates - _Extra marshmallows! _Blair had bellowed from across her shoulder – she turned to the Van der Woodsen twosome with pursed lips and a determined eye. _Well I'll hate her for you, S. No one messes with my best friend without getting on my bad side. _

And it was true; for all of her flaws, Blair had always been her greatest defender. It was a well known fact that no one messed with Serena Van der Woodsen without facing the vengeful wrath of Blair Waldorf. Not Georgina, not Amanda, not _anyone _brave enough (or ignorant enough) to make an attempt at dismantling Serena in any shape or fashion. Now though, years later, it seemed that their roles had been reversed, because it was currently _Serena_ who was feeling vigilant, cracking open the door to Blair's bedroom as her own protectiveness coursed determinedly through her veins.

She was careful to be quiet as she peaked into the room, aware that Blair was exhausted in every way possible. She didn't want to disturb her; she merely needed to put her mind at ease, to see that Blair was fine, that she was sleeping soundly in the bed where they had giggled beneath the covers as ten year old girls, whispering about crushes and celebrities and their plans to be next door neighbors until they turned a hundred and twelve. (_We can live in Hollywood_! Serena had insisted. _No, S, the French Riviera_! Blair had countered_)._

But when she poked her head through the small crack of the door, she found that Blair actually wasn't sleeping soundly in the bed as she'd promised. Instead, the damask duvet cover remained in the same militantly-made state it had been in an hour prior, causing Serena to frown as she pushed her way through the threshold and into the empty bedroom.

She couldn't claim to be surprised at the state in which she found her best friend subsequent to further investigation, although that didn't prevent the heavy feeling of disappointment that pressed against her chest, against her _lungs, _when she turned the knob of the bathroom door to find Blair in that familiar, compromising position. She was on her knees, an ivory towel cushioning her legs from the cold tile floor below, the lavender monogrammed _BCW _peaking out from beneath her calves. The corners of Serena's lips turned downward, her hands fidgeting at her sides as her booted steps tapped quietly against the marble floor. "_Blair?_" she uttered, her voice cracking as she took a breath. _"_What are you _doing?_"

It was immediate, the way Blair's shoulders stiffened at the sound of Serena's voice. She didn't move, not even an inch, her elbows remaining propped on the porcelain toilet bowl as her forehead rested against her open palms. She sniffed, shuddering slightly before finally turning to glance at Serena over her shoulder. "It's not what you think."

Blair's eyes were red, her cheeks like a map of the tears that had made trails down her face, leaving behind stains of mascara in their wake. She shook her head, sitting up straighter as she pushed away from the toilet. "I swear, S," she insisted, swallowing against the rise of bile that slowly crept up the tunnel of her throat. "I didn't do it on purpose. I just… I felt_...sick." _

She closed her eyes then, shutting out Serena's incredulous expression as she wondered how she'd managed to fall so far, so _hard_, in such a short amount of time. Where would she be, she wondered, if things had turned out differently; what she would be doing if she could take back the previous twenty-four hours, if she could undo every decision that had led her to this point.

Wherever she would be, she knew, she wouldn't be _here; _she wouldn't be sitting on her bathroom floor, a monstrosity with bruised skin and a battered heart to match, her throat sore from the barrage of her own stomach acids.

Serena's frown deepened as a steady silence filled the room, but she merely nodded at the claim that fell from cracked lips, grabbing a washcloth from the linen closet and soaking it beneath the cool flow of tap water from the sink's faucet. She knelt to the ground, pressing the damp cotton against the back of her best friend's neck. They were quiet as Blair closed her eyes, leaning further against the toilet as water seeped from the washcloth, dripping paths beneath the silk backing of her chemise. "It wasn't on purpose, S," she persisted. "You have to believe me."

And suddenly it was like they were fifteen again, the weight of Blair's denial separating them, like a river betwixt without a bridge to cling to. It was all Serena could do to nod her head, sighing quietly as she allowed herself to sit flat against the floor, her back pressed against the wall so that she could study Blair's guilty expression. She pressed her knees against her chest, her arms automatically wrapping around them, cocooning herself into her own grasp. "I do believe you."

But the uncertainty in her voice hung in the air, shattering Blair's resolve with it's very presence. Blair averted her gaze, her cheeks flushed as she moved to sit beside her, mimicking Serena's position as she pressed her back against the bathroom cabinet. "No you don't," she laughed, humorless as she stared sightlessly ahead of her. They were quiet for several heartbeats, and then Blair was turning toward Serena, a thin film of tears clouding her vision as her shoulders rose in a defeated shrug. "I don't know why I did it," she admitted, finally, her confession nearly muted. "I guess I just... I thought it would make me feel better. _Normal_, maybe. I don't know; it was stupid." She swallowed, her mumbled explanation dying against the silence. "I 'm sorry."

It was an unwarranted apology, Serena acknowledged, causing her to stretch her hand across the small gap between their bodies, her fingers falling limply over Blair's knee, connecting them. "You don't need to apologize, B. That's ridiculous." Her lips twitched as she caught Blair's eye, a reassuring smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "We're the non-judging breakfast club, right? Think of all the compromising positions you've found _me_ in over the years."

And like a virus, Blair became infected by Serena's smile, her own mouth twitching the slightest bit as she laughed quietly, swiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "That's true, I guess." She smiled, a hint of a smirk gracing her lips. "You were kind of a whore in high school. _And _middle school, now that I think about it."

Serena scowled, scoffing playfully as she swatted Blair's shoulder. "Okay, let's just leave the past where it belongs," she suggested, rolling her eyes. "The _point_ is, there's no judgment here." She sighed then, sobering as she scooted across the floor, allowing their shoulders to fall together, leaning on one another. "I just want you to be okay, B. I'm here for you. We _all_ are."

There wasn't a doubt in Blair's mind concerning the truth behind Serena's statement. She rested her head against the cabinet behind her, her gaze trained on the ceiling as she nodded. "I know."

Serena sighed. "What can I do? Tell me what I can do to make this better."

And Blair suddenly wished that she could travel backward a decade, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled, shrugging. "Can't we just run away from here like we used to talk about? Go buy our houses on the French Riviera? We can just forget about school and Gossip Girl and _everything._" She rolled her eyes at the very suggestion she was making, but smiled despite it's absurdity. "We can be the next Thelma and Louise, maybe. Or Laverne and Shirley."

Serena laughed, nodding, transported back in time by the mere mention of Blair's suggestion. "We can be next door neighbors until we old and decrepit."

Blair shook her head, grimacing. "Ew, no. _Botox_, S," she laughed.

Serena rolled her eyes, pressing through Blair's proposition. "We'll live in _Hollywood," _she insisted, her lips forming a grin as waves of their ten year old selves washed over her, a flood of memories. "We can be the next Paris and Nicole."

Blair scoffed at that, shooting Serena an incredulous expression as she snorted. "Okay S; you seriously suck at this game."

But she smiled nonetheless, laughing as she let her head fall against Serena's shoulder. "But that sounds amazing," she acknowledged, her eyes hooded with fatigue as she stifled a yawn.

They were still for several heartbeats, silent and relaxed, and then Serena was rising from the floor, grabbing Blair's hands and forcing her to her feet. "Come on, B; you need some sleep." She walked her to the bed, Blair leaning against her before falling into the covers. This time, though, Serena didn't leave her to fight her nightmares alone, instead crawling in beside her, smiling as they rested face to face. Blair returned her smile, her eyes heavy as she allowed herself to relax against the pillow.

And the room was quiet except for the sound of their shallow breathing, their eyes closed against the light filtering through the curtained windows. Serena sighed, the tension draining from her body when she was sure that Blair had fallen asleep.

She was sure of this fact, that is, until Blair shifted beside her, cracking open her eyes and catching Serena's gaze. "S?" she whispered, her brow furrowed as her gaze floated toward the opened bedroom door. "Did Chuck have to leave?"

Serena was quiet for a moment, and then she frowned, hoping for a semblance of nonchalance as she shrugged her shoulders and moved closer to Blair. "He had some business to take care of, I think. I don't really know." It was evasive, perhaps, but not entirely a lie. "He'll come back soon, I'm sure. I doubt it's anything important."

–

**Victrola**

The bar was eerily quiet, devoid of the usual music that blared from the speakers, absent the semi-disrobed dancers that typically trolled the sullied floors.

It was empty, in fact, less the two men sitting at the bar, with half-consumed glasses of scotch nearly forgotten against the counter top in front of them. They were speaking in hushed voices, whispers that echoed in the large, vacant room, dying a slow death against the lonely concrete walls that surrounded them. "And I'm sure that I don't need to tell you that this needs to be done _quietly_," Chuck muttered, his eyes trained on the man beside him. Silence ensued, if only for a moment, and Chuck felt his impatience flare.

Beside him, Andrew Tyler finally nodded, his eyes fixed on Chuck's face as a scowl planted itself on the young boy's lips. "I worked for your father for years, Mr. Bass. You know my track record is impeccable." He took a long swallow of his drink, his eyes never wavering from his companion's gaze. "Discretion is not something that needs to be schooled to a private investigator. It goes without saying."

Chuck nodded in response, his grip relaxing slightly from the tumbler resting against palm. He allowed a hand to fall into his jacket pocket, withdrawing a manila envelope and placing it on the table between them. "Half of your fee is in the envelope, as well as the address where the incident occurred." The words were bitter against his tongue, heavy as they fell across his lips. "I can guarantee that, should you produce results that I deem satisfactory, you'll be rewarded above and beyond your typical commission."

Andrew shrugged, finishing the rest of his scotch and resting the empty glass against the bar top. "I don't doubt that, Mr. Bass," he uttered, rising from his stool.

Chuck was quick to react, his hand snaking out to trap the other man against his seat in a fierce grip, his eyes narrowed as he invaded Andrew's personal space, drawing them nose to nose. "I want results, and I want them fast. This is not a game where you pawn them off to the highest bidder. Understand?" He glared, tightening his grip. "This is personal. Failure will not be tolerated." His voice was level as he spoke, but his heart was slamming against his chest, his pulse racing. "Whatever information you find, I'm the only one who sees it. Don't fuck this up, Tyler, or I swear to god, you'll regret it with every fiber of your being."


End file.
